My mind’s a map. A mad sea-captain drew it <br />Under a flowing moon until he knew it; <br />Winds with brass trumpets, puffy-cheeked as jugs, <br />And states bright-patterned like Arabian rugs. <br />“Here there be tygers.” “Here we buried Jim.” <br />Here is the strait where eyeless fishes swim <br />About their buried idol, drowned so cold <br />He weeps away his eyes in salt and gold. <br />A country like the dark side of the moon, <br />A cider-apple country, harsh and boon, <br />A country savage as a chestnut-rind, <br />A land of hungry sorcerers. <br />Your mind? <br /> <br /> <br />—Your mind is water through an April night, <br />A cherry-branch, plume-feathery with its white, <br />A lavender as fragrant as your words, <br />A room where Peace and Honor talk like birds, <br />Sewing bright coins upon the tragic cloth <br />Of heavy Fate, and Mockery, like a moth, <br />Flutters and beats about those lovely things. <br />You are the soul, enchanted with its wings, <br />The single voice that raises up the dead <br />To shake the pride of angels. <br />I have said.<br /><br />Stephen Vincent Benet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/difference-25/
